No Hope
by Sugar Junky Freakazoid
Summary: One-shot. A thought always occured to me. People say that when the Kiss is administered that nothing is left. But how do they know? This is the tale of one person who sits in Azkaban after being victim to the kiss.


**A/N: **The actual idea for this occured to me when I was reading PoA the first time around, four years ago. I got struck with the thought of how they knew for sure that the Dementor's kiss sucked out the soul of the victim. I just forgot about it though, until recently when I came up with the answer: they don't know it. Simple really.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own.****

**No Hope**

He watched out of glassy eyes the world around him. They had said that after the dementor's kiss he would loose his soul, no longer have memories, no sense of self. They had lied. They had told him he would just be an empty shell. They had lied. They had said that his soul would be gone forever. They had lied. They had also said there was no chance of recovery, and that it was a fate worse than death. That they had told the truth about. They had told him he deserved it. He wasn't so sure.

He hadn't known what he had done, what anyone could do that could truly deserve such a punishment, a punishment which was really much worse than they had thought it to be. Sure, he had done some horrific things in his life. He had murdered many, many people, caused havoc around the entire wizarding world and tried to exterminate all muggles, but he didn't think that even that could deserve a punishment like this. Death, maybe, but not this.

Wizards thought they had Dementor's kiss figured out. They thought that it would cause the person who it had been administered to would loose their soul. But how had they known? No witch or wizard who had been given the kiss could respond and tell them whether they were there or not. They had just concluded it on their assumptions.

The truth about the kiss was very different from what they thought. The physical, outwards attributes were the same. No apparent memory, no will to do anything, no ability to move freely, nothing, however, the physiological differences were nothing even remotely similar to it. Rather than having no memory it was quite the opposite. He had retained the same past and same thoughts as when he had been given the kiss, he just couldn't break through.

Every movement he tried to make, every sound he tried to create, would be blocked, stopped before he could do it, before he could make the fact that he was still there known. He knew there was a barrier, and after a while he had stopped fighting it. There was no way for him to let anyone know he was still there. There was no point in fighting it.

As days, weeks, and eventually a full year past, during which time he was forced fed food inorder to keep him alive, in order for him to endure his punishment to the fullest, nothing happened. Then, finally, the first visitor since he had arrived came. It was the minister coming for his annual inspection fo the prison. He'd recognise the rodes he wore anywhere. He'd also recognise the face that had sentenced him to the hell that was the kiss anywhere anytime.

The slimy prick, he saw, turned towards him, a cruel sneer on his face as he looked in on him, the prisoner looking out with the same expressionless face he was always forced to wear by the same barrier which stopped him from contacting the outside world on.

'Not so tough now' the minister had said. 'Not going to kill or harm anyone else, are you?'

There was a sneer in the minister's voice that caused something to snap inside of him, that caused him to start fighting again. If he could just get to minister he could end the worthless piece of shit's life for causing him to live through this hell. If only...

But it was no good. The same mental barrier, the same block, was still in place. He couldn't get past it no matter how hard he tried. He slowly stopped fighting again, well aware that the minister was still sneering in at him.

'Oh well, you're hardly worth my time,' the minister had said, turning away, cruelty plain in his voice. 'To think, one of the wizarding world's most notorious criminals reduced to this, nothing but a nameless prisoner, now the lowest of the low.'

Whatever it had been that had snapped inside of him before snapped again, only this time much more severaly. He couldn't - wouldn't let the minister get away with badmouthing him like that. He had to fight.

He struggled once again against the invisble barrier, but it was no good. The minister was gone. There was no way he could fight back. He had been so close, but that was it. He mentally sighed as he prepared himself, again, for eternity isolated, alone with nothing more than his thoughts. He had no hope.


End file.
